The car door slammed and out came the knife. His mind was racing.
Guess what Ham-hock, you're not my type
Slash
I don't dig on chubby guys who sweat too much and are going to be bald by the time they're thirty
Slash
You are nothing but a scared little boy who can't handle how extraordinarily ordinary you are!
Slash
It happened fast. And the numb throbbing in his head stopped enough for him to breath again. Looking down, Dave noticed that his left forearm was a bloody mess of torn skin and blood. Fuck it, just another thing to hide he thought as he turned the keys in the ignition and pulled out of the parking lot. The ride home was a pretty short one, and he knew his parents wouldn't be home, so no need to try to hide his injury. He slammed up the stairs to his room, threw his backpack onto his bed with a little more force than was necessary, and went into the bathroom to disinfect and bandage. He wasn't stupid. He'd cut before, and knew that infections were possible. Not like he planned on it or anything . . . just needed something to take the pain away from his head, and this seemed to work. Hockey injury he'd tell his parents at dinner if they asked, though he knew they wouldn't. The Karofsky family wasn't what you'd call an involved family. Paul, Dave's dad, was a typical middle-management type; his mother, Elizabeth, was an emotionally distant secret alcoholic who worked in a salon. Just as Dave expected, no questions at dinner. He was relieved, and a little upset. He was hoping they'd at least take some interest in him other than asking about his grades or when his games were.
The next day at school was pretty normal. His Letterman Jacket covered his arms, so no-one needed to see what was under. He was on his way to Geometry when he ran into Kurt. He had planned to apologize to him, but when this pretty boy Kurt brought along tried to get his attention, that plan went out the window.
"Hey, lady boys. This your boyfriend, Kurt?" He knew it didn't sound like he had wanted, but what ever. Kurt seemed surprised that Dave had used his first name, but shook it off.
"Kurt and I would like to talk to you about something," the Stepford boy said. Knowing exactly where this was heading, he tried to end the conversation.
"I gotta go to class," he said while easing his way past, careful not to touch Kurt again.
"Kurt told me what you did."
Fuck. "Oh yeah? What's that?"
"You kissed me," Kurt murmured, his voice quaking with fear.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Dave said looking around. He had hopped they would take the hint and do the decent thing and walk away, though he knew he didn't deserve such kindness.
"It seems you might be a little confused, and that's totally normal. This is a . . . a very hard thing to come to terms with, and you should just know that you're not alone."
What the fuck? Is this kid a fucking therapist? Without realizing it, Dave had him shoved against a wall. "Do not mess with me." An honest threat.
Kurt intervened, tearing the two apart. His eyes fixed directly into Dave's as he snapped at him. "You have to stop this!"
Of course Kurt was going to man-up to defend his pretty fucking boyfriend. Why wouldn't he? Dave thought as he rushed to class. He was hoping his little run-in with Fancy Boy didn't fuck-up the rest of his day.